


Desperate Measures

by sarahenany



Category: DreamWorks Dragons (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Frenemies, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 14:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17469662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahenany/pseuds/sarahenany
Summary: Heathstrid, Fishlout. Alpha/beta/omega AU. (I know, I know...) Astrid and Snotlout can't go five minutes without insulting each other... and when Astrid's health is threatened by a too-long heat, that doesn't change a bit, not even when Snotlout volunteers to solve her problem.aka"Careful with the merchandise, Hofferson!""Don't be such a baby, Jorgenson!"





	Desperate Measures

**Author's Note:**

> I must be insane to be writing alpha/beta/omega fic. Thursday26 has thoroughly corrupted me. But it was the only excuse I could think of to have h/c in the form of filling sexual needs and see how that fits with Astrid and Snotlout as the frenemies who care deeply for each other but can’t go five minutes without insults. This is NOT an Astrid/Snotlout romance.  
> Thanks to Thursday26 for the developmental edit, for teaching me what a developmental edit means, and for this miserable AU.

Snotlout yells out in frustration as his axe-throw is ruined by a Nightmare head-butt. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Should-check on Astrid,” Hookfang rumbles. “Heat long-time now. Stormfly… Stormfly worried.”

This gives Snotlout pause. Stormfly’s almost as much of a warrior as Astrid. More stoic than Stoick the Vast. If Storm is worried… “Hookfang, omega heat’s nothing to be worried about. It’s uncomfortable...” He suppresses a squirm as he remembers what he’s read of it: stomach cramps, sweating and chilling, uncontrollable trembling in later stages. “But it’s not dangerous.” Hookfang looks unconvinced. “Look, Heather’s gonna be here in a few days. She’ll take care of her.”

“Least check-Astrid.” Snotlout whirls. Stormfly has landed far too quietly behind him, head tilted, pupils dilating and contracting alarmingly. Her breathing is raspy and she looks as ruffled as a Nadder can look. “Astrid… _crying.”_

Snotlout’s stomach clenches. ‘Crying’ in Dragonese can mean anything from human-style weeping, which dragons can’t do, to moaning, to outright screaming, but it doesn’t matter. Any pain that would cause Astrid to vocalize, in _any_ form, needs checking out. He swings a leg over Hookfang’s neck. “You win,” he concedes, something uncomfortable aching in his chest.

* * *

 

By the time Hookfang glides down to the landing platform outside Astrid’s hut, Snotlout is nervous. What if something really _is_ wrong with her? Hiccup and Fishlegs are off on Berk, and the twins are patrolling the neighboring islands and not likely to be back until tomorrow morning. Hiccup’s bright idea to put him and Astrid in charge of the Edge… “probably figured one responsible one and one irresponsible one would balance each other out, shows how much _he_ knew…” Snotlout mutters as he swings a leg over Hookfang’s neck, steeling himself to go in, “Hiccup and your brilliant ideas…” is going to backfire spectacularly if Astrid’s too sick for Snotlout to take care of and they have to take her to the Defenders’ Island and leave the Edge unguarded. The Defenders don’t even have a female alpha to take care of her, uh, needs… she did mention once she had a deal with Heather that if she went into heat and was suffering, Heather was okay with her doing that… but the Defenders _don’t_ have a female alpha to take care of her needs so that brings him right back to Square One and—

The blast of pheromones hits him the minute he sets foot in the doorframe of Astrid’s hut. In an instant he’s rock-hard and breathing heavily. He takes in a deep breath through his mouth and clenches his teeth, leaving the door wide open to dissipate the scent. _It doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t mean anything,_ he reminds himself – and it actually doesn’t. If anything, it makes him think of Fishlegs. Even though a beta doesn’t produce those scents, the way these pheromones make him feel reminds him of how he feels when he’s under Fishlegs… writhing… hot… being taken, owned, _possessed_ entirely...

“Shit,” Snotlout mutters, turning away and gulping down a great breath of fresh air. He’s not going to be any use to Astrid if her heat _has_ made her sick and all he’s thinking about is boffing his beta boyfriend.

As he’s still leaning on the doorframe with one elbow, Astrid cries out in pain.

Any arousal Snotlout is feeling is quashed by the cold that takes over his insides. He’s _never_ heard her sound like that, not when she’s taken an arrow to the thigh. “Astrid!” he calls, barging into the hut. Too late he realizes she might be undressed, she might not want him to come in, that he’s invading her privacy—just as he sees her lying on her back on the wooden floor, spine arched, fists clenched, eyes tight shut, teeth bared in an agonized grimace.

“Astrid,” Snotlout says again, closing the distance and dropping to his knees next to her. The pheromones have given him an erection again, but it doesn’t matter. His voice sounds soft to his own ears. “Astrid?”

She slits her eyes open. “It hurts,” she breathes, and now he sees that her cheeks are wet.

His insides chill. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and reaches out to wrap a hand round one of her clenched fists. “You… you’re really hurting, huh.”

It’s a measure of how distressed she is that she doesn’t even snark back at him. “Yeah,” she breathes, then inhales sharply and holds her breath, writhing.

Snotlout’s chest tightens. Astrid should be giving him a hard time, not lying there helpless and suffering. He forces a thumb into her clenched fist for her to hold on to. “Hold on,” he says urgently, bending over her. “It’ll be okay.”

“It’s never gone on this long,” she gasps. “The cramps-- _Ah!”_ The hand around his clenches so hard he thinks she’ll crush his thumb. She looks like a woman giving birth, except he’s heard women giving birth sound less agonized than this. “My fault. Waited too long between times and now…” She gasps. Her body goes limp as the cramp recedes and she looks at Snotlout, speaking hurriedly and urgently. “If I go into a coma, try to get me to drink some sugar water and,” another ragged gasp, “wait till the twins get back. Then if I’m still not out of it, send a Terror Mail to th… _ah…”_

“Hold on just a minute!” Snotlout yells, scared shitless by the sight of Astrid writhing in pain and talking matter-of-factly about comas. “Who said anything about going into a coma?!”

“It’s been… three cycles,” pants Astrid. “That can bring on a coma if the fourth isn’t-- taken care-- _unh--”_

She stiffens and convulses again. Snotlout’s chest squeezes tight, and he slips his other hand under the back of her head so it won’t hit the floor so hard. “What can I do?”

Her head shakes, pillowed in his palm. “You can’t. There’s… Heather and Fishlegs read up, there’s nothing to be done. I just have to wait it out--” She shudders and moans beneath another cramp. He can see where her leggings are soaked, and he’s sure it would be attractive to an alpha, part of his body is responding, but all he can think is _fuck she’s getting dehydrated._ Astrid is his arch-nemesis, she should _not_ be hurting this bad, and he should not be this useless and confused! He should know what to do!

Well… there is one thing...one thing, in theory, he _could_ do…

“Astrid.” Snotlout’s voice sounds soft and wet to his own ears. His senses are still swamped with the scent of _heat mindless fuck now,_ his erection still straining against his leggings, but for someone who prides himself on being practical, he’s still oddly hesitant to suggest it. “If… you know… I mean, I’m an alpha.” _What_ is he saying? “Sorry! Sorry,” he backtracks, “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you! I just wanted to help, I promise…” She groans again and it tears his heart in two. “I’m sorry, Astrid.”

But her eyes widen. “You’d…” She blinks, long, then her eyes squeeze shut against another convulsion. “I feel so shitty I would have suggested it,”

He grips her hand harder for support and they wait, breathing in tandem, riding out the pain. “Why didn’t you?”

She slumps as the cramp passes. Her eyes open, wet and bloodshot, and meet his. “I thought… Fishlegs…”

Snotlout lets out a huffing laugh of relief. “He knows I’m an alpha. He said if I find myself in a situation - well, you know Fishlegs, he said a lot of Fishlegs stuff, but like the end of it is I can fuck an omega if I need it or if they need it, as long as we don’t fall in love.”

Astrid smirks, pain in abeyance for a moment. “No risk of that.”

His hand tightens around hers. Astrid’s hand isn’t big and soft and callused and sexy like Fishlegs’, but it’s a hand that has saved his life more times than he can count. The hand of a friend. And he’d do anything to help her. “Not unless you fall for my raw Vikingness, Hofferson,” he leers, exaggerated, and bends sideways to kiss his own biceps.

Astrid makes a gagging noise. “This must be a test from the gods.”

Snotlout grins, undoing his belt ostentatiously, trying to channel his inner asshole who thinks he’s Odin’s gift to women. “A test of your--” What’s Fishlegs’ word?! “--your fortitude! Not to fall in love with the virile manhood of--”

“Want me to throw up all over you?”

Snotlout grins. “Need help with your leggings, fair maiden?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Astrid rolls her eyes. “Give me strength.”

And just like that, Snotlout feels very, very serious all of a sudden. “Astrid, I just wanna help you. This isn’t for me or--”

“I _know_ that, muttonhead! And I appreciate it, I do!” She lowers her hands to her skirt, getting her thumbs in her leggings and smallclothes and starting to wriggle out of them. “Now get that alpha dick out before I cut it off! Or my ovaries are gonna bust out and hit you in the face!”

“I got this to say, Hofferson,” Snotlout grumbles, “you sure know how to set the mood.”

“I _do._ When it’s Heather.” A smug smirk, spoiled slightly by another wince of pain. “But you’re not Heather. What you see is what you get.”

“I see a fair maiden,” Snotlout leers exaggeratedly as he slides his leggings down. “Filled with desire for my charms…”

“Well, _someone_ needs Hiccup’s spyglass.”

He grins, his brain only half-functioning. The heat-scent is making his reflexes screwy, and he’s half-afraid he’s going to do his erection damage as he pulls down his smallclothes, it’s so fucking _hard._ “You should hang out with me and Fishlegs when we’re fooling around. I gotta say, this omega scent is something else.”

“Yeah, you should try the cramps,” Astrid says wryly. “A real picnic.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, sobering. “Still hurting?”

“Yeah, but not for long.” Astrid’s scent has spiked, sharp and urgent in his head, _do it do it do it do it do it._ “Will you mind if I think of Heather?”

“Only if you mind that I think of Fishlegs,” he says, feeling a little buoyed. He even manages to dredge up a nervous smile from somewhere.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” With no preparation, Astrid unceremoniously grabs hold of Snotlout’s cock like it’s a sex toy and has half of it up her before he knows what’s going on.

A bolt of arousal whites out his senses, and he topples forward, doing a makeshift push-up so he’s not squashing her underneath him. “Hey, careful with the merchandise, Hofferson,” he gasps.

“Don’t be such a baby, Jorgenson. –Ahh! OH FUCK that feels good!”

“Of course it feels good, it’s attached to me!”

“That’s not _because._ That’s _in spite of.”_ Snotlout’s still scared of hurting Astrid, but she has no such compunctions as she begins to thrust, legs splayed around his hips. “Oh gods, oh gods _yes_ I needed this! Oh Heather!”

“Charming.”

“Hey, you said I could!”

He grins. “You know what I’m thinking right now?”

Astrid rolls her eyes, but she’s trying very hard to hide her smile. “Spare me.”

“I’m thinking I’m Fishlegs, and you’re me.”

Astrid grins at that, wide and wolfish. “An alpha, imagining they’re an omega? Sign me the fuck up.”

“Shut up and keep fucking. I’m trying to imagine it in my head.”

“Where did you think you were gonna imagine it? In your stomach?”

“That’s enough outa you, Hofferson.”

“Suck my dick, Jorgenson.”

Snotlout just grins, trying to immerse himself in the fantasy. In his mind, his cock is Fishlegs’… not just Fishlegs, but Thor Bonecrusher. The quivering, helpless maiden beneath his mighty form… He shudders. That’s _him._ He thrusts, tentatively. So this is how Fishlegs feels, taking him. It feels good. It feels right, like coming home. “Fuck me, Fishface,” he whispers.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel good, Jorgenson.”

“Ah, quit your yammering,” Snotlout ventures, grinning and squeezing the nearest bit of Astrid he can reach, which happens to be a knee. “I told you I’d be thinking of Fishlegs.” A thrill of pleasure surges through him as the scent swamps him, seeming to swallow him whole. He shifts out of his push-up to shuffle to his knees, needing to rest Astrid’s ass in his lap, wanting to imagine his legs on Fishlegs’ shoulders.

 _“Mmm, yeah!”_ Astrid grunts. _“Oh man,”_ she sighs raggedly, “it doesn’t _hurt_ anymore!”

“What a compliment. What every man dreams… of hearing...” He’s so aroused it’s hard to snark a retort. “Doesn’t hurt anymore… _charming…_ ” _Oh gods_ when her thighs are pressed against his chest… does Fishlegs feel like that? Smooth, helpless legs high up around his neck, and him completely in control… It’s hot, like a forge-furnace blasting into his brain. He wraps his arms around Astrid’s legs, pulling her closer, imagining himself being lifted, pulled… used, _taken…_ The scent swamps him, going straight to his erection. It’s so hard he thinks it might fall off. So this is what Fishlegs feels like, ramming into him… _taking him..._

“Gods,” Astrid echoes his emotions, “that feels so good.”

Snotlout tears himself out of his fantasy long enough to seize the perfect straight line Astrid’s giving him. “Of course it does. I’m a _Jorgenson.”_

“That feels so good, _Heather,”_ Astrid grins smugly.

“You know what we should do?” Snotlout blurts, euphoria loosening his tongue. “We should have Fishlegs and Heather fuck. And we should watch.”

“For once – _ah –_ you’ve actually gotten a _not-bad_ idea, Jorgenson.”

“All my ideas – _nnh –_ are good ideas.”

“You just keep telling yourself – _ooh –_ that.”

“Oh, gods.” The pheromones are surrounding him and his mind is blanking out, focused on the heat and the thrusting and the little sounds - _oh gods_ the wet slapping and the little grunts and heavy breaths. He’s the mighty Viking demigod pounding into a soft, helpless human, pinned beneath him… He closes his eyes and he’s in Astrid’s place, but he’s Fishlegs at the same time, owning Snotlout, using him for his pleasure. Making him his little bikja, making him his _claim,_ his _property. Owning_ him with each hard thrust… “I think I’m gonna come,” he chokes out.

“About damn time. Don’t hold ba--AH--on my acc… mmMMH YOU BETTER COME SOON YOU MUTTONHEAD BECAUSE I’M--”

Snotlout starts to come. Astrid screams, so loudly it would have scared him limp if he wasn’t already coming. Oh, thank Thor, he realizes, her cry was one of pleasure, she’s okay. He closes his eyes and lets the last of his orgasm wash through him, hot and pulsing. He really has to tell Fishface about the imagining-I’m-you trick. It was _awesome._ “That was awesome,” he gasps, voice ragged. “You’re…” Something wonderfully offensive occurs to him. “You’re a good lay, Hofferson,” he grins.

“Remind me to…” Astrid has to pant to finish the sentence, “...to castrate you when I can move.” Her shortness of breath makes him feel a lot less comfortable kidding around. He slips out - he’s softening anyway - and manages to tug her skirt down to cover her crotch before he flops onto his back on the floor next to her. “You’re okay, I guess,” Astrid returns the compliment grudgingly. “For a man.”

“Thanks. I think.” The floor underneath them is soaked. Snotlout flails out, grabs his leggings and scrubs at the wet patch on the floorboards under Astrid’s hips - she’s not well, and he doesn’t think she should be anything other than warm and dry. It’s such a contrast from how strong she usually is that Snotlout starts to panic. Did he use her when she was weak? What kind of monster is he? “Astrid?” he says urgently, trying to sit up.

“Hmm?” she slurs.

“I didn’t take advantage of you, did I?” She’s silent, and the chill takes over his bones. He scrambles into a sitting position. “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you, Astrid,” he babbles. “Please, I want you to believe that. Oh gods, did I--”

“Shh, shh. Just…” she gasps. “Hard to breathe…”

“Okay, here…” He grabs for a piece of spare armor and props it under her head. “Is that better? Did I hurt you? Gods, I never meant to take advantage of you…”

“Shut up, Snotlout,” Astrid pants with a weak grin, flapping a hand at him that’s meant to be a punch in the arm. “I was the one who took advantage of you.”

All the panic drains out of Snotlout, leaving him a little lightheaded. “That’s a relief,” he sighs. “Fishface would forgive me for boffing you but he’d never forgive me for taking advantage of a girl in heat.”

Astrid’s voice is a little stronger when she speaks again. “Nobody took advantage of anyone else. We’re adults. It was mutual. We’re fine. Okay?”

Snotlout chuckles, the knot of fear loosening. “Heh.”

Astrid’s tone is suspicious. _“What?!”_

“You called me an adult,” he says smugly.

“That’s a figure of speech, muttonhead—”

He tunes her out as he turns to look at her. Now the haze of arousal is receding, the pheromones lingering in the air ineffective after orgasm, he can take stock of Astrid’s condition. She doesn’t look like death warmed over anymore, but her cheeks are sunken and she’s still looking ill. “You let it go on for a _really_ long time, didn’t you?” he asks seriously, cutting her off.

Astrid pauses. “Uh. Probably. Figured I could wait it out.”

“Ugh.” Snotlout levers himself up to his feet and tests out his shaky limbs. Fine. He can do what needs to be done. He tugs his leggings on over the mess - he can clean up later - and crosses the room. “You’re probably crashing,” he calls out behind him as he fumbles for a towel. “Side-effect of too many hormones and staying in heat for too long--catch--” he tosses the towel toward her, dampened in a bucket of clean water. “Get yourself cleaned up and let’s get you into bed.”

“I have…” The stubborn idiot can barely get the words out, “patrol.”

“Stormfly can take it.” Normally Snotlout wouldn’t use this tone to Astrid unless he wanted to get castrated, but he’s still kind of worried about her. He’s heard of omegas having a heart attack or a stroke from exertion after a too-long heat. “I know you’re in charge, but you’re sick, so you’re hereby relieved of command.”

Astrid’s eyes narrow, and the blue fire in them rivals her dragon’s magnesium flame. “Is this because you stuck your dick up me?”

“Jeez! Way to be embarrassing!” Snotlout turns away, rubbing the back of his neck. _“No,_ Hofferson. It’s because Heather will have my balls if you keel over dead of a heart attack, and if Heather doesn’t, Hiccup will. And then Stormfly’s gonna _eat_ them.” He feels safe turning toward her. “And I like my balls attached, thank you very much.”

“Okay.” Her smile is soft, like there was some kind of test and he’s passed it. “I wouldn’t trust…” she’s still short of breath, “...Stormfly with that kind of meat in her diet.”

He crosses the room to her in a few quick strides. Warrior she may be, but right now she’s just a sick friend. He needs to think about getting some food or water into her. “Let’s get you into bed.”

“I’m not _sick…”_ Astrid objects, but she trails off when he helps her up and she goes from pale to ashen, clinging to his arm in a very obvious wave of vertigo. “...but I could use a nap…”

Snotlout refrains from any I-told-you-so’s, wanting to hold onto his stubborn friend’s newfound compliance as long as possible. They shuffle slowly toward the bed and he sits Astrid down on the edge. “Here.” He tries to sound authoritative as he scoops up a bowlful of water and hands it to her to drink.

He needn’t have worried: she gulps it down thirstily. All that sweating and, uh, other stuff must have left her parched. “Thanks…” she whispers, the water visibly doing her good. Her hands are shaking, so he helps her steady the bowl and refills it when she’s done.

“Let me…” Remembering something Fishlegs said, he scoops a spoonful of honey into the bowl. This time, when she drinks it, Snotlout’s relieved to see a little color return to her cheeks. “That’s it. Try and drink it all up.”

Astrid drains the bowl, then another and half of a fourth before her thirst is slaked. “Thanks, Snotlout,” she slurs, but her voice is warm, and it’s clear she means it.

“No worries,” he says, then keeps going before he can change his mind, “and you drank a lot of water so if you uh, wake up and, like uh, need help with the chamber-pot, you can just yell and--”

“Don’t push your luck, Jorgenson.”

“Uh-huh, sure, okay-- STORMFLY!” he yells, trusting in dragon hearing.

Almost instantly, a blue birdlike head pops in the door, so quickly he’s almost certain she’s been standing just outside through the whole proceedings. “Astrid!” she trills. Tone is a casualty of the differences between Norse and Dragonese, but he could swear he can hear relief in her voice as she takes several hesitant paces into the hut. “Astrid better!” Cheerfully, Stormfly adds, “Smell mating.”

Snotlout groans: trust dragons to state the (awkward!) obvious. Astrid just giggles. “Yeah. Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“Hey!” Snotlout squawks as he lowers her to lie on her side and slips the pillow under her head. “I resent that! Every woman in the Archipelago wants a piece of my Viking manliness!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Astrid smiles affectionately as she tries - and fails - to pull her legs up into bed. She gives up, letting them dangle. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Snotlout bends and lifts Astrid’s legs by the ankles. He slips her boots off and arranges her legs on the bed in what he hopes is a comfortable position - she looked like she was going to fall asleep with her feet still on the floor. Then he draws the covers up over her, tucking her in, making sure she’s warm. “Stormfly, stay here and watch over Astrid, okay?” He can tell from the anxious way Stormfly’s tilting her head this way and that that she wants to stay, to see for herself that her rider isn’t sick anymore. “Hookfang and I can take this patrol. You can call if you need anything.” He looks up at Stormfly and places a hand on the right side of her snout. “Hookfang will hear you even if I don’t. Anything at all, you just call, okay?”

Stormfly tilts her right eye to him. Then her left. Then she _licks_ him.

Snotlout blinks, touched. Stormfly’s not a dragon for displays of affection. He turns back down to Astrid. “If you need anything, you tell Stormfly, okay? Hookfang and I will be right there.” He fusses with the blanket, making sure Astrid’s tucked in. “Even if you think it’s silly or dumb, just call us, okay? We’ll be there in a--”

He chokes off as Astrid grips his wrist through the covers. “Snotlout?”

“Yeah?”

Her smile is warm, friendlier than the way they usually look at each other. Her color is better; she still looks tired, but the grey pallor of illness is gone. “Thanks,” she grins. “I mean it.”

Now would be a perfect time to make a raunchy joke. Instead, Snotlout tries to swallow, and chokes instead. Astrid giggles. “Are you laughing at me?” he says, gripping her hand back and drawing himself up indignantly.

Astrid’s smile softens. “It’s what I do.” She squeezes his hand tight before letting go. “But really, thanks, Snotlout. For everything.”

“A--anytime,” Snotlout chokes out. “Okay, Stormfly, I’ll be seeing you!” He flees into the gathering twilight, where a Nightmare is pacing back and forth and trying very hard to look nonchalant.

* * *

 

As they soar up into the air, Hookfang is oddly silent. They bank and turn around the rear shore where Storm and Astrid would have patrolled, looking for any whiteness in the sea, any smoke or choppiness that might signal uninvited guests. Hookfang is still very quiet, the only sound the beating of his wings in the air.

Suddenly, when they’re over open sea, Hookfang dives, soaking Snotlout to the bone in freezing water. “HEY! Crazy dragon!” Snotlout yells. “What was that for?!”

“Smelled of mating,” Hookfang says flatly. “Needed bath.”

There’s something in Hookfang’s tone beyond what he’s saying. “I could have had a bath later,” Snotlout grumbles, shivering. It’s fucking _freezing_ flying wet at night. But, priorities. He has a dragon to try and make sense of. “Hookfang… what’s up? Are you…” It sounds ridiculous, but maybe? Dragon mating season is still a few months away? “...jealous?”

Hookfang vocalizes, something between a bark and a squawk. _“Jealous_ of Snotlout put… what humans say? Another notch in bed-post?”

Snotlout’s jaw drops. He even forgets the cold for a second. _“What?”_

“Hookfang want burn-Snotlout crisp when come out of Astrid-hut… smelling of _mating.”_ His partner’s tone is a low growl. “Astrid _sick._ Snotlout mate with _sick female?!”_

 _“What?_ I mean, I did, but--”

“Use Astrid? Astrid sick, so Snotlout _use?_ Hookfang wanted Snotlout _help!”_

 _“No!”_ The cold inside Snotlout is worse than any freezing water, to think Hookfang would believe that. “No! No, no no no no no no no! Hooky, no! Go ask Astrid! Go ask Stormfly!” Snotlout doesn’t know why he’s so desperate to have Hookfang not think badly of him - well, not _this_ badly. “You don’t think Stormfly would have let me leave there alive if I’d done anything, uh, _wrong_ to Astrid, do you? You know she’d have burned me to a crisp!”

Hookfang’s growl isn’t quite as menacing anymore, but his words are. “Since Hookfang met Snotlout,” the dragon’s voice is bitter, “Snotlout not-respect human females. Many years pass. Hookfang _think_ Snotlout better. But Snotlout _use_ Astrid when _sick!”_

 _“Hooky.”_ Snotlout bends low over his dragon’s eye-bulbs, speaking low and urgent. “I promise, I swear it wasn’t like that. Astrid was sick _because_ she needed to mate. She and I made a deal.”

“D-deal?” The growl is subsiding. “Agree-ment?”

“Yes!” Snotlout nods against Hookfang’s face. “You know how it is with alphas and omegas. You do, don’t you?” There’s a grunt. “Do you know what happens to an omega - or an alpha! - if they spend too long in heat without mating?”

Hookfang hesitates. “Know heat get longer. And… and worse.”

“Yeah. If we don’t mate, we can get sick. Really sick.”

“Astrid… sick…” Hookfang thinks for a moment. “So mating… mating _heal?”_

“Yeah. That’s the only reason I… Hookfang, I would _never_ take advantage of her! Mating was the only way to stop her getting sicker.”

There’s another thoughtful rumble. “Like Fish-healer… or Gothi?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not as good as them, but she needed something I could do. Oh Thor, I was afraid,” Snotlout swallows, still not liking to think of it, “we couldn’t get Astrid to find help in time. I - Hooky, I swear on Thor’s hammer! I _respect_ Astrid! I _care_ for her! I don’t want her to _die!”_

Hookfang rumbles for a moment. Then he bursts into a low flame, warming Snotlout as he sits on his neck. “Hookfang believe Snotlout,” he says after a pause.

“Thanks, Hooky. I know it looks bad, but I swear it’s the truth.”

His partner’s huge head nods. “Hookfang know Snotlout care for Astrid. Snotlout good friend. But what about Fish-mate?”

“What…” Realization floods into Snotlout in a rush. “You’re _standing up for Fishlegs?!”_

“No!” Hookfang says in too much of a hurry. “But humans - humans… mono… mona…”

“Monogamous?”

“Yes. And Snotlout secret-mate Astrid when Fish-mate off-island…”

Snotlout flings his arms around Hookfang’s face. “Hooky, you’re the best friend ever. You don’t have to think that! I wasn’t _cheating_ on him! I wouldn’t cheat on Fishlegs. He gave me permission!”

A growl. “Not-lie Hookfang. Snotlout _say_ only Fish-human for mating.”

“Yes. But it’s the alpha/omega thing… he said it was okay if I was in heat and hurting. Or to help someone else. I promise.”

“Fish-mate permit mating… for ease pain?”

“Yeah.” Snotlout hugs Hookfang’s eye-bulbs, oddly touched that Hookfang is defending Fishlegs against Snotlout’s infidelity. “That’s right.”

“H’h. Fish-mate…” A long pause. _“Self-less.”_ A shorter pause. “Not-tell said that.”

“Hey… would it make you feel better if I sent him a T-mail? Telling him what happened?”

“Not-must. Hookfang trust Snotlout.”

“No, it’s okay.” His dragon defending his boyfriend fills Snotlout with joy. “I’ll write him as soon as we get back. Set your mind at rest,” he scratches Hookfang’s face, “big boy.”

“Hookfang _trust_ Snotlout.” A short huff of smoke. “Hookfang sorry. Hookfang just was…”

Snotlout waits, but Hookfang doesn’t speak any more. “You what, Hooky?” Snotlout coaxes. Then he scratches between Hookfang’s eyes in the spot he loves so much.

The dragon groans. “Not-tell anyone what Hookfang going-say!”

“I promise.” Snotlout bends lower to his head, resting his cheek against his eye-bulbs. “Tell me.”

“Hookfang… always glad Snotlout change. Snotlout-Now…” He appears to be searching for words. “Snotlout-Now _real_ Snotlout. Good heart, good respect. But today… when Hookfang think Snotlout go-back to Snotlout-Before… not-respect women, not-respect chiefs, not-respect Fish-mate, not-respect dragons…” A deep breath. “Hookfang… chest hurt?!” The last is almost like he’s asking Snotlout why that could be, unsure of such a thing.

“Oh, _Hookfang…”_ Snotlout wraps his arms tightly around Hookfang’s snout and nuzzles him. “I’m sorry. I know I used to be a muttonhead. I’ve changed, I promise. I would _never…”_ He shakes his head. “I promise. Ask Fishlegs. Check any way that makes you comfortable! I’m not gonna go back. Never.”

Beneath Snotlout, he feels a purr. “Hookfang believe Snotlout.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Hookfang shakes his head like there’s something stuck in his ear. “...Trust.”

“I appreciate it. But I want you to check. Ask Stormfly. Ask Astrid. When they’re better. And you can see the letter I write Fishlegs. I want you to be sure, Hooky. I want you to know for sure.”

Hookfang purrs. “Thank Snotlout.” He tilts his head and gives Snotlout a look, pupils wide and soft. Snotlout’s breath catches. Hookfang has never said I love you, but Snotlout knows what that look means.

As they glide around the island, Snotlout snuggles into the warmth on his dragon’s back. Hookfang with him on patrol, Astrid and Stormfly safe in their hut, Astrid recovering and under Stormfly’s care… Any lingering chill dissipates, driven away by the warmth of having good friends he can trust and rely on.

* * *

 

APPENDIX **A - Snotlout's T-Mail**

_Fishface,_

_Hookfang’s not letting me wait till you get back so I figured I’d write you now. Astrid was going into a fourth cycle of heat and she was really suffering so I mated with her. I know you said it was okay but Hookfang’s gotten it into his head that I’m betraying you unless I tell you as soon as it happens. It was fun, but I was thinking about you the whole time. Astrid’s better now, don’t worry. The mating helped and I gave her lots of fluids like you said and Stormfly’s watching over her now, she’s resting. If there’s anything else I should give her, let me know by t-mail. I know I’m awesome, but as a healer, you’re more awesome. Love, Snotlout_

* * *

 

**APPENDIX B - Fishlegs' T-Mail**

_Snotlout,_

_Thanks for telling me. It’s okay, I trust you. I’m proud of you for helping Astrid. Now she’s over the heat, you have to sit on her not to over-exert herself for three or four days. Have the twins take over her patrols. Make sure she eats several small meals a day and has lots of dried fruit and sugar. If she gives you any trouble, Stormfly knows to make her follow instructions. We should be back in three days’ time. I can’t wait to see you._

_Fishlegs_

_PS. Was it fun? Do you want to tell me about it?_

_PPS. Do you want any special ‘punishment’ for ‘cheating’ on me?_

_PPPS. HOOKFANG insisted you tell me?_

_Love, F._

Snotlout clutches the letter to his chest. The next week is going to be very, _very_ fun.


End file.
